8. Matvey

8

MATVEY

I wake up with a pounding headache and a throbbing shoulder.

It takes me a moment to remember that this isn't just another hangover. That I didn't empty the liquor cabinet again—though I sure as fuck smell like it. But no, it wasn't the drinking that did me in this time. It was…

I spring up and a voice calls out, "Easy. You'll pull your stitches."

April.

After all this searching, it doesn't feel real. I wonder if it's a fever dream—God knows I've had enough of those over the past few weeks. I blink in the dim light, feeling for April by my side, terrified I'll find nothing.

But then I feel her hand around mine. "How long was I out?" I rasp.

"Around five hours."

Five hours. That's the longest sleep I've had in a month. "The baby?"

"Out like a light."

She points to an open drawer behind her. I can't see much from here, only that it looks like every blanket I've ever owned has been put inside it as padding.

Makeshift crib. Smart. I shake that thought off. I shouldn't praise this woman, not even in my mind. Not for anything.

She took away my daughter. She took away my blood. And she put her in danger, too.

Carmine. I knew he'd make a move, but I wasn't expecting another so soon. Not after the D.C. deal mysteriously blew up.

Because, clearly, he had a hand in that, too.

And not just that. The kidnappers, the assassins—from the start, it was all him. I had my suspicions, but last night was proof.

All this time, my father was behind it all.

I prop myself up against the headboard. As my eyes adjust to the dark, I realize it must be near dawn. There's a pale ray of light filtering through the blinds, but it's weak. Faint.

Like April looks right now.

I take in her sunken face, the bags under her eyes. A month on the run isn't kind on the best of us, but I can't imagine it'd be anything less than harrowing for a new mother. When she left that hospital bed, her stitches weren't even dry.

And whose fault was that?

I want to say "hers," but something stops me.

"I'm going crazy here, Matvey. I don't know what's real anymore."

"Here," April interrupts my thoughts. "Drink."

Cool glass touches my lips. I want to refuse her coddling, but I'm parched. That's the only reason I accept it, I tell myself. The only reason I let April take care of me.

Silencing my thoughts, I open my mouth and drink.

It feels like the first sip of water I've had in forever. I don't stop until I've guzzled every last drop. "Grisha left some painkillers for you," she adds afterwards. "Do you want them?"

Yes. My shoulder is killing me. "Medication dulls my senses," I mutter.

"Uh, right. I'm gonna take that as a no."

There's a disappointed edge to her tone. It irks me—what the hell did I do now ? "I said I'm fine."

"Actually, no, you didn't. You just gave me some bullshit, alpha male one-liner and weaseled your way out of saying what you really feel. Then again, I shouldn't be surprised."

"What do you want me to do, April?" I snarl. "You want me to say it hurts? Fine: it hurts like a goddamn bitch . Happy now?"

"Yes!" she snarls right back. "Because at least I know what you're thinking!"

"What was I supposed to be thinking? ‘Oh, gee, I'm so happy my father came all the way from D.C. to put a bullet in me'?!"

"How should I know? You don't tell me anything! And when you do, you lie."

"I never—" I start.

"Do not!" April cuts me off, standing up in a rage. "Do not tell me you never lied to me, Matvey Groza, because I swear to God, I will swap your painkillers with gummy bears and pour Everclear right on your stitches."

"I never?—"

"Never told me you loved Petra?" she spits. "Never told me her baby was yours? Newsflash, Matvey: you didn't have to. You came home, you told me you were marrying her, and you damn well knew you didn't have to say anything else."

"I—"

"You knew. You fucking knew. At least respect me enough to admit that."

I want to reject April's words with all my heart. I want to scream loud enough to wake up the entire building, That's not true.

But I can't.

Because it is.

I let her connect the dots all while knowing exactly what picture she was drawing in her head. I let her think the wedding was of my own free will so that I wouldn't have to explain why it wasn't. I let her think the baby was mine so that I wouldn't have to explain that it wasn't—so that I wouldn't have to tell her whose it was.

I may not have lied to her face. But I might as well have.

"You won't tell me a single thing. You shut yourself away in your silence and leave me alone with my mind. Do you have any idea what that feels like?"

I don't. Silence is the one thing I never had to fight. Silence means bullets aren't flying; it means storms aren't coming. It means that, at least for as long as that silence lasts, that no one's getting hurt.

It was never my enemy.

But that doesn't mean it's not April's.

"Tell me I'm wrong," she rasps. "Tell me that, or finally tell me the truth."

So I do.

I tell her everything.

I tell her about going back to my apartment that morning. About finding Petra there. About how I almost shot the woman on sight.

Then I tell her what she told me. I'm pregnant.

It's not easy at first, getting it out in the open. Every word I say gets stuck in my throat on the way out, like it knows it's a secret. Like it knows I'm not supposed to share it.

I wonder what would have happened if I'd done this before. What pain we might've avoided. What blood might've been left unspilled.

"It was the only way," I add in a whispered croak. "The only way to keep the three of them safe. I had to claim the baby as mine. There's no telling what Vlad would've done otherwise. And Yuri… he didn't want anyone to know. In case word got back to Vlad."

April listens without a word. She listens until the very end.

It's unnerving—why isn't she saying anything? The irony isn't lost on me: Silence finally hurts.

But eventually, April speaks. "Did he ask you not to tell me?"

I hesitate. "He asked me not to tell anyone."

"Right. But he didn't ask you not to tell me. "

I'm starting to get irritated again. What's with the sophism here? He said no one— what's the goddamn difference?

"I tried to tell you," I insist. "The day before the wedding?—"

"Which was a whole week later," she objects. "Why not tell me from the start?"

I want to say, Because my brother asked , but I can't even get the words out. After all these lies, I can't bring myself to say another one.

Because in truth, it was never about Yuri.

I could've asked him to keep April in the loop—hell, I could've demanded it. I was holding all the cards; I had no reason to compromise.

But then that voice said…

Can you trust her?

I'm trying to find a better way to say it. A way that doesn't make me sound like a complete asshole.

But April's had her share of silences, so it's only fair that she's gotten good at reading them. "Right," she mumbles, stealing the words right out of my mouth. "I'm not blood. Got it."

"I never chose Petra over you," I point out. "I never loved her, April. I?—"

Say it. Just fucking say it.

"You loved me ?" April fills in, but there's something off with her tone. Something dark and bitter. "No, Matvey. That's just another lie."

It's like a dagger to the heart. I clench the covers and rise, ignoring the biting agony in my shoulder. "How would you fucking know?!" I roar. "How would you know what I felt?"

"Because if you love someone, you trust them!" she yells into my face. "And if you can't trust someone…"

That's when I notice the tears in her eyes.

"Then you don't love them," she rasps. "Not really."

I feel my rage rise. Every time I'm near this woman, I swear, it's like I can't control myself anymore. It all goes right out of the fucking window. "I was right, though, wasn't I?" I say. "You couldn't be trusted. Tell me, April: did you think of ‘trust' when you kidnapped my goddamn daughter ?!"

She reels back as if slapped. "I…"

That's when a noise snaps us both out of it.

No, not a noise: crying.

"Oh, no." April rushes to the drawer. "No, no, no, shh. Hush now, sweet thing. Mommy's got you." She picks up the bundle of blankets and starts rocking it in her arms. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, May."

The breath catches in my lungs. For a long second, I forget how it goes. One beat, then another. " … ‘May'?" I echo.

April turns to me, eyes suddenly wide. "Yeah. I… Sorry, I didn't ask you what names you liked. I just always thought, if I ever had a girl…"

She holds the bundle out to me. Her hands quiver.

With the utmost care, I take it. "It's fine." I shake my head. "It's a good name. It really… suits her."

May. My daughter's name is May.

I'm a father.

And speaking of fathers…

"Carmine was probably behind it all," I tell April, my face turning grim. "The kidnapping, the break-in. Until I deal with him, you're both back under my protection."

I don't leave her room to argue. Luckily, she doesn't. She may be a liar and a cheat, but from what I've seen…

From what I've seen, she's one hell of a mom.

"Okay," she says. "Until Carmine's dealt with."

"Until Carmine's dealt with," I agree.

It's a pact. We don't shake on it, but we don't need to.

Our baby seals it for both of us.